


Medicine

by vipjuly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Frottage, Light Angst, M/M, Musician Castiel, Musician Dean Winchester, Pierced Castiel, Recreational Drug Use, Tattooed Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 22:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15981392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Before Castiel came into the picture, Dean had been pretty sure he was straight as an arrow.That illusion had been shattered the second he shook hands with Castiel four years ago when they brought him on as their new bassist.





	Medicine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedoorgal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedoorgal/gifts).



> the link to the song is placed very strategically; please don't listen to the song until you reach that part of the story! (and then, of course, put it on repeat until you finish)  
> for steph. i fucking love you. happy (belated) birthday!  
> art by [zoe](https://twitter.com/wingsandimpalas)

On stage it’s all machismo and charisma. Between holding the guitar in his hands and putting his lips to the mic Dean can forget about literally anything else in the world outside of his strumming fingers and the count-in from his drummer. The vibrations shoot through his bones and pump his adrenaline and he loves what he does, who he does it with, and where they do it - dingy dive bars that can’t afford to pay them more than a percentage of the cover charge but Dean _lives_ for this. The shitty light show reflects off his glasses in all the wrong ways but Dean isn’t trying to look at anyone in particular. 

If his gaze happens to land on a girl and she screams and almost faints, that’s just one of the perks of the job. 

More often than not, though, his gaze falls on someone who isn’t in the crowd at all. 

The bassist, Castiel, enters his own alternate dimension whenever he plucks on his bass. He offers hoarse, smoky back up vocals for Dean’s songs and there’s just something about him that Dean can’t pull away from, drawn to him like a magnet. Floral tattoos done in a watercolor style cascade up and down the length of his arms, there are letters tattooed on his fingers (TRUE on the right hand, LIES on the left), and the tiniest cross is tattooed on the highest point of his left cheek bone. Surely he has more tattoos that are covered up by his tank tops and skinny jeans but Dean has never seen them. Won’t ask to. 

There’s a hoop in Castiel’s right eyebrow, a sparkly diamond stud in his left nostril, and he has two onyx dermal piercings just above his collarbones. Looking at Castiel is a totally different experience than actually talking to him; the man looks rough, maybe even mean, but Dean knows he laughs at knock-knock jokes and once went on an entire rant about how to save the bee population. 

As a whole, Dean is rightly smitten with Castiel. 

After all, they occasionally trade handy’s and drunken kisses. 

No one knows but Dean and Castiel. They keep it that way - well, _Dean_ keeps it that way, and Castiel couldn’t be bothered to make a big deal out of it. Their drummer, Chuck, and their keyboardist, Kevin, either don’t pick up on the tension between them or choose not to comment. Whatever it is, Dean’s thankful, because before Castiel came into the picture, Dean had been pretty sure he was straight as an arrow. 

That illusion had been shattered the second he shook hands with Castiel four years ago when they brought him on as their new bassist. 

\--

Offstage things are much more relaxed. They pass around joints, bicker about setlists, and make general complaints that they need to make new music to stay relevant and keep their fans interested. Dean’s been working on a song for a while - a couple of weeks - but he’s unsure about sharing it with the band. 

It’s a big deal. 

Dean’s not very good at the whole _emotions_ thing. He can love ‘em and leave ‘em without breaking a sweat but actual feelings are a bit… beyond him. Despite being a singer he can never seem to articulate himself well enough to be understood on the first try, and he ends up getting frustrated before he can fully explain himself, and usually closes off after any failed attempts. It’s a flaw, he knows. He just can’t help it.

He definitely can’t help the way his pen flies over his notebook when Castiel comes over one day with a totally new hairstyle. Buzzed on the sides with a fade leading up to a pompadour dyed a steely denim, Dean had first gotten a boner, and then had gotten inspiration. 

Castiel doesn’t say anything as he pulls a pack of smokes from his back pocket and makes his way to Dean’s balcony. Chuck and Kevin are absorbed in a movie and barely send him a greeting and Dean is being quiet as he scribbles, but after about five minutes Dean sets the notebook aside and then stands, feeling suddenly antsy. 

Walking to join Castiel on the balcony, Dean stands in the doorway for a split second to admire the man leaning against the railing. There’s a haze of smoke around him and Dean hates cigarettes but would never tell Castiel to quit, because Dean sort of thinks it’s hot. 

“Hey,” Castiel greets without turning to look at Dean.

Remembering himself Dean jolts into action, clumsily shutting the sliding door behind him and joining Castiel in leaning against the railing. “Uh, hey.” 

Castiel takes a slow drag of his cigarette. Dean’s apartment doesn’t have an amazing view - just more buildings, really - but it faces the setting sun and Castiel always looks otherworldly at this time of evening. “Writing a new song?” 

Dean nods jerkily. He rubs the back of his neck, adjusts his thick-framed glasses, and then scratches the side of his nose. “Yeah.” 

“What is it about?” Smoke plumes from Castiel’s mouth and nostrils like a dragon. 

“You.” Dean’s heart jumps into his throat.

A small smile curls on Castiel’s lips. “Me.” 

Dean clears his throat and starts picking at some of the paint peeling off of the railing. “Uh. Yeah.” 

Silence falls between them and after a few moments Dean tips his head back to look up at the pinkening clouds. “I like your hair.” 

Castiel stubs out his cigarette, “Thanks.” He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and then pins Dean with his kohl-lined gaze. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m pretty close to kicking out Dumb and Dumber so we can have some alone time,” Dean replies honestly. His fingers twitch. He wants to thumb the crease of Castiel’s lips. 

Those lips quirk in the faintest of amused smiles, “Then do it.” 

Oh, does Dean want to. But getting Chuck and Kevin out of the house without just blatantly announcing that he wants to fuck around with Castiel is nearly impossible. They’re not idiots, and Dean isn’t exactly subtle, which is why he takes such precautions around Castiel. Castiel who, bless his heart, never peeps a complaint with Dean’s slightly erratic and closeted behavior. 

Castiel saves the day by cracking open the slider door and calling out, “We need more beer.”

“On it,” comes Kevin’s voice, followed by Chuck complaining they were in the middle of the best part of the movie. There’s general commotion of Kevin probably throwing Chuck’s shoes at him before they finally leave, the apartment swathed in quiet.

Castiel pins Dean up against the slider door, leaving it cracked, barely any space between their lips. Dean’s heart rate spikes into the danger zone, blood boiling because he loves it when Castiel pushes him around and takes what he wants with confidence Dean doesn’t have. 

“Better?” Castiel murmurs.

Dean nods dumbly. 

Castiel kisses like a furnace kicking up after a summer-long vacation. It’s burnt heat, crackling electricity, and it never fails to make Dean lightheaded. The glass of the slider door is cool through Dean’s worn tshirt and when Castiel rocks against him Dean has the faint worry that they’re going to bust the window and fall right through. Castiel’s body is _thick_ , his arms and shoulders and waist and fucking thighs and Dean isn’t a limp noodle by any means, with his own broad chest and tapered waist, but something about Castiel being just that much more muscly than him always sparks the pilot light in his own furnace. 

Rocking his hips towards Castiel Dean knows it won’t take long for them to find release grinding together like a pair of horny teenagers. Something about Castiel destroys any and all of Dean’s self preservation and he loves it. His head tips back against the door and Castiel leaves biting kisses across the column of his throat and for a split second Dean wishes he would leave marks even though they’ve discussed the exact opposite plenty of times. Castiel’s body is hard and commanding and Dean’s cock is throbbing and need bubbles up in his throat and comes out in the most pathetic of high pitched whimpers, Dean’s lashes fluttering as orgasm overtakes him. 

Castiel holds him upright, and judging by the harsh way he’s breathing, he didn’t cum. Dean grips weakly at the man’s biceps, licks his lips, and then lets his knees give out so he can sink down onto the concrete patio. They’ve never gotten past handjobs and grinding but suddenly Dean is overcome with the urge to taste, to feel Castiel on his tongue, to swallow him down to the best of his ability.

Fingers in his hair cause Dean to pause in pulling down Castiel’s zipper, green eyes looking up towards blue.

“You don’t have to.” 

A wolfish smile spreads on Dean’s lips. “I know.”

The answering grin is just as wicked and when Dean pulls out Castiel’s cock he exhales shortly before wrapping his lips around the tip. Those fingers tighten in his hair again and Dean knows Castiel won’t push him too hard, too far, but Dean is pretty sure he can take it. Wants to take it. He’s messy and sloppy and has pretty much no technique but Castiel doesn’t seem to mind or care, his hips rocking slowly, his hand coming down to jerk what Dean can’t fit in his mouth. It’s quick and dirty and when Castiel grunts his warning Dean pulls back only slightly so he can catch his breath, Castiel’s release spilling out onto his swollen lips and spit-slick chin. He swallows what he can, licks up what he can’t, and then Castiel is hauling him back up onto his feet so he can join in the cleanup process.

Leaning against each other and catching their breath, Dean catches the slightest shift in Castiel’s eyes before it’s covered up with a cocksure smile.

“Not bad.”

Castiel opens the slider door and heads back inside, leaving Dean out on the balcony with nothing but the breeze and the fading scent of cigarette smoke. 

\--

“I’ve got the instrumentals down,” Dean announces a few weeks later. He hands out handwritten sheet music to everyone in his living room, and keeps the lyrics folded up tight in his back pocket. “Still workin’ on the words.”

Kevin is the first to speak up, his genius brain and eyes already halfway through the score. “Holy shit, man. This is way different than our usual stuff.”

Chuck takes a bit longer to read the notes, tapping out the rhythm on his knee with one of his drumsticks. He nods, but there’s the slightest confused twist to his brow. “Where did inspiration for this come from?” 

Dean shrugs and tries to act nonchalant. Kevin and Chuck are on the couch, Castiel is sitting on the floor loading up the bong, and Dean has been pacing for about ten minutes now, unsure of his band’s reaction to the new piece. “Just been stuck in my head.”

Castiel hasn’t looked at his paper, the task of packing the bowl apparently a bit more pressing. Besides, Castiel has this amazing ability to look at sheet music for about five seconds and have it all memorized, so Dean isn’t offended that Castiel’s attention is elsewhere.

Dean wrings his hands idly. “Is it too different? Like- d’you think fans will like it or is it too… I dunno.” He runs his fingers through his hair, lacing them at the back of his neck. 

Chuck and Kevin study the music quietly for a bit more, before Kevin speaks up.

“No way. I think this is great- we’ve been playing the same stuff for like ten years. This… Dean, man, if you can keep putting together music like this we might actually take off.” Kevin’s eyes light up a little. “Maybe we could even play a real show at a real venue instead of shitty dive bars!”

“Really?” Dean blinks in surprise. He knew he was taking a risk when he was working on the scores and the beats but he didn’t think it would be some sort of huge game changer.

Chuck shrugs and sets the sheet down on the coffee table, “I think Kevin’s right, man. What kind of lyrics are you gonna put with it?” 

The click of the lighter and the sound of the bong bubbling are all that come from where Castiel is sitting on the floor. Dean’s ok with it. The lyrics in the pocket of his jeans burn. 

“Not sure yet. Kinda messing with a few things.”

Kevin makes a face, “Don’t you almost always write the lyrics first and _then_ do the score?” 

Dean gets a little defensive, snapping, “This time’s different.” 

Kevin raises his hands innocently and shrinks back into the couch. “Sheesh. Ok.”

“I was thinkin’-” Dean swallows around the dryness in his throat as Castiel hands the bong to Chuck. “I was thinkin’ ‘bout us all learning the instrumental first, without lyrics, and then uh. Debuting the lyrics on opening night.”

“...Even to us?” Chuck asks, arching a brow as he puts his lips to the bong and flicks the lighter a few times. 

Dean can feel Castiel’s gaze on him. “I was thinkin’ it’s uh. Y’know. Might be a little personal or whatever…” He’s surprised he hasn’t caught on fire from Castiel’s gaze.

Chuck hands the bong off to Kevin and says, “Cool. I think it would be really neat to let the audience know it would be the first time we’re hearing the lyrics too. An inclusive surprise, or something like that.” 

Kevin takes a hit, holds it for a few seconds, and on the exhale grins. “As long as you’re not announcing that you’re quitting the band I think that’s a neat idea.”

“Neat,” Dean echoes with an amused snort. He finally looks at Castiel, whose kohl-lined eyes seem darker, guarded. “You ok with that, Cas?” 

“Whatever you want,” Castiel says as he stands up. He grabs his cell off the table and slides it into the back pocket of his worn jeans, “I’ll see you guys later.” 

He leaves the sheet music on the coffee table. 

\--

It takes about four weeks for them to get the song perfect. Castiel has been pretty reclusive the whole time, showing up for band practice and then making a swift exit once they call it a night, and Dean does his best to not let it affect him, but… shit, it does. Gone are Castiel’s easy touches, his sarcastic jokes, his heavy gaze. Dean doesn’t know what changed between them - Castiel still treats Chuck and Kevin pretty much the same, but it’s like Dean is a ghost. Castiel answers questions directed at him and says nothing more, and Dean is feeling a burning itch under his skin.

It’s almost like he knows.

He practices the lyrics over a rough recording of the instrumental. He’s got to get them just right. It has to be perfect. It’s hard doing it this way; he would much rather be practicing with live music, with the guys there to give him some tips on what he should do for adlibs and cueing him in. It will be weird singing a song without Castiel on backup vocals, and honestly it’s not like Dean is trying to make this about himself but… he is.

This is all about him. 

And, to be honest, it’s about Castiel.

He’s going to fuck this all up, but it’s the most important song he’s ever written.

\--

It’s the night of the song debut and Dean feels like he’s going to puke. Castiel has continued to be scarce and Kevin and Chuck know something is up but they know better than to say anything. Setting up at the Roadhouse amphitheater is an easy routine that they all could do in their sleep, so Dean works mindlessly, blissfully shutting off his mind for a full half hour. People start filing in - Kevin had made some posters and slapped them on nearly every available surface in the city advertising an old band with a new sound, and while Dean can recognize some regulars, he also sees plenty of people he doesn’t know. All different types of people; flannels, blazers, chains, tattoos, high heels. It’s a diverse crowd and Dean shakes his hands out, bouncing on the balls of his feet idly behind stage. 

“You ready?” Kevin asks Dean cheerfully.

Dean nods because if he opens his mouth he’ll yack on his shoes. 

The stagehand for the Roadhouse, Charlie, announces the band with a flourish. When Dean passes her she gives him a thumbs up and a wink that usually reassures him but tonight falls flat, and he offers a terse smile in reply. Getting into position, he and Castiel pluck around on a few cords to test the sound, Kevin making sure all the wires are hooked up. 

The crowd is applauding politely, the groupies cheering loudly, clearly excited to have some new material. Dean had suggested that they all dress a little differently tonight; gone are the ratty tees and holey jeans - Dean’s wearing a purple silk button down and black skinny jeans, a pink handkerchief in his back pocket and a blue choker. The color choices are obscenely obvious but so far no one has commented on them, even though Castiel’s eyes had lingered on him a bit longer than necessary. Castiel himself is wearing fitted white jeans and a royal blue button down, the top three buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up. Chuck is wearing blue jeans and a black vneck, and Kevin looks like he should probably be attending church.

Their versions of ‘dressed up’ vary incredibly and… awesomely. Dean didn’t want them to match at all. And the guys hadn’t fussed at all when he suggested a change of attire which reassured Dean that he wasn’t being a diva and the new direction the band is going in is well fucking worth it. 

After all, Kevin thinks that after tonight, they could go mainstream. 

Dean steps up to the mic stand, adjusting the strap of his guitar. He’s glad the lights nearly black out the crowd, but he’s already starting to sweat. He turns around to look each of his band members in the eyes to confirm that they’re ready to go, that this night will change their lives - Castiel meets his gaze head on and Dean swears there’s a certain edge to those smoky eyes and he does his best to ignore it, turning back to the mic and wrapping both hands around it.

“Evenin’ folks,” he greets the crowd, and they quiet. “As I’m sure you read from our flyers, tonight we’re openin’ up with somethin’ a little different. This song… I composed and wrote myself. Not even the guys have heard the lyrics yet.” The crowd cheers for a few seconds, and he licks his lips nervously, before throwing out a falsely confident smile. “This song is called Medicine.” 

[[Medicine](https://youtu.be/B0j87aNgt5s)]

He pulls away from the mic and turns around to for Chuck to count him in. Together they quietly start the intro, and after a few beats Castiel joins in on the bass, Kevin filling in the gaps with the keyboard. It sounds fucking amazing with the stage speakers instead of the shitty sound system Chuck has in his garage and Dean turns around, feeling the right kind of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he moves to the mic, adjusting his earpiece before starting. 

_Here to take my medicine_  
_Take my medicine_  
_Treat you like a gentleman_

This isn’t too different from how his other songs start out; ambiguous, cocky. Dean’s mouth to the mic and his fingers working over the guitar has girls in the front screaming - he’s coached his voice to sound slightly different; still a rich, deep tone, but the falsetto is something he’s never tried before and if it flops, it flops, but without it the whole song would turn into a hot mess real quick.

_Give me that adrenaline_  
_That adrenaline_  
_Think I’m gonna stick with you_

_Here to take my medicine_  
_Take my medicine_  
_Rest it on your fingertips_

Dean licks his lips and knows the song is taking him over. All of the pent up frustration, all of the question-dodging, even his anger at Castiel for withdrawing from him bleeds out of him in pink blue and purple as he sings. The band’s songs have never been overtly sexual but Dean is barreling forward despite his initial nervousness, the music filtering through his body and brain, his confidence gaining with every bar they play.

_Up to your mouth_  
_Feeling it out_  
_Feeling it… out_

Dean lets go of his guitar, Kevin filling in on the keyboard. He wraps both hands on the mic and brings it close to his mouth, eyes closing, preparing himself for the chorus that’s been stuck in his head for weeks - for months.

_I had a few_  
_Got drunk on you_  
_And now I’m wasted_

_And when I sleep_  
_I’m gonna dream_  
_Of how you…_

The last word is meant to be insinuated and Dean ends up mouthing _tasted_ to the crowd, everyone going wild in the beat between the bridge and the chorus. Hands on his guitar again Dean brings it in with the percussion blaring in his ears. His slightly raspy voice mixing with the instruments is doing things to him that have never happened on stage before and he should be embarrassed that he’s getting aroused _by his own song_ but he can’t bring himself to care. The crowd is jumping, dancing, and none of their music has ever gotten this reaction before. More people come filing in, likely having heard their music playing on the speakers the Roadhouse has mounted on the outside of the building to lure in passersby, and Dean suddenly feels a huge swell of satisfaction and pride.

_If you go out tonight_  
_I’m going out ‘cause I_  
_Know you’re persuasive_

_You got the salt and I_  
_Got me an appetite_  
_Now I can taste it_

_You get me dizzy, oh_  
_You get me dizzy, oh_

In the beat between he hears Castiel’s smoky voice croon out an adlib and when he glances over he sees the man’s eyes alight with _desire_ , cold and hot all at once, sweat beading at his temple as he gets more into the music than he has in the whole time they’ve been practicing. Dean knows it’s the rush of the crowd cheering, the spike of want and desire usually a direct result of being noticed, and with Castiel’s adlib Dean thinks he really should have shared the lyrics sooner but at the same time, Castiel has a sixth sense about this sort of thing, and Dean isn’t surprised at all that the man has picked up on the vibe and the cadence that Dean’s been searching for. 

Because Castiel is damn fucking perfect.

The music quiets a fraction and Dean goes back up to the mic, his heart rate spiking in anticipation for the next lyrics about to spill from his mouth. This is it - this is his moment. This is the instant that the crowd will finally realize the message of the song and not only that - this is the moment where his friends will pick up on what he’s been hiding this whole time. 

This is the moment Castiel might decide he hates Dean and wants nothing to do with him. 

Dean closes his eyes and lets the music carry him away.

_Tingle running through my bones_  
_Fingers to my toes_  
_Tingle running through my bones_

He lets off on the guitar unscripted and Kevin scrambles to pick up the notes but does so in a manner that doesn’t give away the slip-up, Dean thankful for the kid’s quick reflexes. Once again he holds onto the mic like a lifeline, opening his eyes to look out into the black sea of the screaming crowd, his muscles flexing and tensing and fingers shaking as he belts out the next words.

_The boys and the girls are here_  
_I mess around with him_  
_And I’m ok with it_

_I’m comin’ down_  
_I figured out_  
_I kinda like it_

_And when I sleep_  
_I’m gonna dream_  
_Of how you…_

He doesn’t mouth the word in his head on this bar but the crowd screams anyway. There’s loud cheers and catcalls and when he opens his eyes he’s surprised he’s not dead of a heart attack. His bandmates don’t miss a beat and Dean doesn’t either, not risking looking at any of them for fear of what he’s going to see. But Castiel’s gaze… it’s heavy again, and Dean knows the man is looking him up and down. Dean picks up his guitar again and continues to play and sing through the chorus, and as they come up on the interlude he pulls away from the mic so he can walk around on stage for a few beats, collecting himself before returning to the mic.

_I’ve had a few_  
_Got drunk on you_  
_And now I’m… wasted_

There’s the slowest decrescendo and then a few beats of silence before Chuck counts them in again. Dean plays through the chorus once again and he hears Castiel’s smoky voice echoing his words and even pairing with them and he feels higher than he’s ever felt, better than any drug or drink has made him feel. The lights flash over them and the crowd and Dean has a huge smile on his face as he continues to sing, bouncing and shimmying in place, and finally when the song counts out and they finish with a few well harmonized chords he pulls away from the mic and turns around to face his band, lifting his hands up to cover his mouth as he braces for their reaction.

He doesn’t expect Kevin and Chuck to both leap over their instruments and cords in adrenaline-drunk excitement, nearly tackling him to the floor. The hugs are awkward because of the guitar still strapped over his chest but he holds them tight, laughing as Chuck showers him in excited, sloppy kisses, Kevin reaching up to ruffle his styled hair and slap him on the back a few times. Dean glances over just in time to see Castiel stalking towards him, fire in his eyes and death on his lips and Chuck and Kevin pull away as a courtesy, likely ready to let Dean be skinned alive in a crowd of at least three hundred people.

What Dean doesn’t expect is for Castiel to tug him forward by his guitar strap and smash their mouths together. The crowd’s cheers probably rock the whole damn city while Castiel devours Dean in front of them, Chuck and Kevin cheering as well and high-fiving each other. Dean tunes it all out, focusing on the mouth he’s missed for over a month, absorbed in the sensation of being owned by the man of his wet dreams. When their lips break and Castiel stares directly into Dean’s eyes Dean lets a lofty, crooked smile split his lips, raising his hands innocently and shrugging.

More cheering, lots of laughing, and Castiel draws him into a fierce hug, fingers in his hair and palm on the small of his back. 

“I fucking love you,” Castiel says for only Dean’s ears. 

Even if they don’t get their break from this show, Dean’s just received the biggest break of his life.

“I fucking love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)  
> 


End file.
